Just The Usual
by Apocalyptical Angel
Summary: Just another usual night at the roadhouse until the Winchesters walk through the door.


**Just the usual**

**Summary; **Just another usual night at the roadhouse until the Winchesters walk through the door.

**Rating; **M (sexual content and language)

**Pairing; **Dean and Jo

**Disclaimer;** I own nothing, if I did… well, let's just say those boys would be kept _very very _busy.

*Daydream fantasy*

Just a one-shot about Dean and Jo. I've been tumbling around stories (*cough* and daydreams *cough*) of the Winchester boys for a while and I can only conclude that they need more females in their lives that can actually stay around. I'm not asking for a lifelong commitment, but seriously, some lass has gotta get Dean's fur all ruffled for longer than a few episodes!

Until then, I shall have to hope and pray the pizzaman inspires Castiel some more ;)

Reviews are encouraged and as always, they are very very welcome.

* * *

><p>"Just don't." Jo protested, the tips of her fingers pushing off the next man before his chat up line could form on his self-declared smooth lips.<p>

It was a usual Thursday, the usual Thursday regulars and the new Thursday contestants.

"Oh com'on, don't be like that, babe."

Jo raised an eyebrow.

'Babe'; is that what people saw when they looked at her? Granted, she concealed the hunting knife under the beer stained apron she wore, but she would be more than happy to introduce it to them.

Her mother's warning gaze flew in her direction, telling her to hold back temper, stow her fists and walk away.

If only it was that easy.

Jo took a breath, wiped her hands on her damp apron and made a silent countdown from 10. She could make it through this shift without any bloodshed… she hoped.

The main doors opened and shut behind her, probably some more assholes looking for a deep glass of beer and a barwench to perv over. Jo didn't bother turning around to even greet them; let them think she was a bitch if it would keep them off her naughty list. Blood was a pain to get out of the wooden floors. It was probably the only reason her mother wasn't over here with a big red _'hands off my daughter' _warning in the shape of her boot.

"You want another round?" she asked as politely as her gritted teeth could offer.

"Only if it comes with an added side of you, sweetness." The man nudged his friend with his elbow, confirming his asshole status and celebrating with jock-esque laughter. Jo just smiled without feeling, a practice she had to perform more often than she liked.

"Another round or not?" she spoke quickly, trying to finish with them as soon as possible.

"Frowning doesn't suit you." he continued to comment, his fingers extending to reach her face, she quickly stepped back. "Come sit with me, we'll see if we can turn that frown upside down yeah, Princess."

Before Jo could even curl her fist to slam into his highly cut cheek bones another male voice answered for her from across the bar.

"Princess?" It spoke, the tone gruff and familiar. "She's no princess." The corners of Jo's lips turned up at the perfect essence of masculinity that had walked into the bar. A true smile for a true man. "This one will do nothing but mess you up."

"Ah, I ain't got no problem with that, right?" But the second that hand slapped on Jo's ass, her saviour had to take more deliberate action.

"Ever had a chic with anger problems?" The voice enquired, a hell of a lot closer than before. "One minute she'll be taking you head first into that sweet dream, and the next; she's pressing a knife to your junk for no good reason." The smell of worn leather and motor oil flooded her senses, the warmth of a body behind her consuming her with an aura of safety.

"Dean." Jo whispered in greeting, his name a shared prayer and wish.

"But that's nothing," Dean continued, his breath delighting the nerves on the nape of her neck, "Compared to what her boyfriend would do to you for even looking at her." Dean's hand wrapped around her waist, pulling her to his strong frame in one quick sweep. "What he'd do to you for touching his woman…" His free hand slipped dangerously low on her hips, beneath the apron and sadistically drawing the hunting knife from its home. "So I suggest you pay for this round… with a real nice tip for your stupid behaviour, and pray he gets too drunk tonight to hunt you down."

Jo watched blindly as the men scurried to find their wallets, slapping bills down without any count and shuffling out of the bar like their balls were on fire.

All it took was the suggestion, it didn't actually matter that Dean was in no way, shape or form her _boyfriend_. He was just… Dean: everyday superhero.

The usual patrons took a few seconds to raise eyebrows before shrugging it off and turning back to their beer. They knew the Harvelle women controlled the alcohol flow, and they knew not to argue with them or their decisions. Besides, most were too old to give a damn about some young punks on a drunken road trip.

"I had it under control." Jo finally voiced. Neither had moved from their position, her back was locked tight to his front, his knightly presence seeping into her, his fingers starting electric tickles on her skin.

"Just lending a hand." Dean smirked, passing the handle of the knife back into her grip and leaning over her short 5ft 4inches to pick up the fresh beers the assholes had just ordered.

"You staying long?" she asked him, her voice a whisper in their private conversation.

"Long enough." he simply answered, his long fingers looping through the beer mugs, the other hand slipping under the cover of her apron again, stroking up the inside of her thigh and over her sex. "Leave the window open."

And like that, he was stepping away as if nothing had happened, smoothly walking over to the booth Sam and his laptop had commandeered with free beers and a hero complex.

Jo sighed longfully. She had a loose deal with Dean, whenever he was nearby he visited, and when he visited, he snuck back in at night. Away from his brother and the watchful eyes of her mother, the two would re-connect in the only way Dean knew how. A way he excelled in, a way he had perfected… a way that made her cheeks heat and knees weak just thinking about.

She turned to the bar, her hips rested on the recently vacated table.

Damn, that man was one smooth operator.

She watched him slide into the booth, the denim on his jeans hugging an ass that would make Adonis jealous. His aged jacket and t-shirt combination would never go out of style for her, not when she knew the definition of the muscles under in. Hunting kept a man fit, but Dean's hedonistic lifestyle kept a man happy and undeniable. He was the right amount of cocky and considerate. Yes, he could kill at 20 paces, but where wasn't many men she knew that could also charm the panties of a woman at 20 paces.

In total; he was the kind of man you needed a year to get over a night with.

Thankfully, for Jo, that night rolled around every few months or so.

Her mother interrupted her eyeline, approaching the boys to talk shop. Dean sent her a knowing wink and Jo turned back to the job at hand, collecting the bills from the table and stacking the empty glasses.

* * *

><p>Dean was barely listening to Ellen, making enough idle chatter to keep her going, but otherwise letting Sammy get his verbose flexibility on.<p>

Jo was a spitfire, her ass swinging like a pendulum as she wiped the cloth over the sticky table. She would work a spell with the rhythm of her hips, he could hardly blame the guy for trying it with her; any sane man would.

But boyfriend or not, he couldn't deny he felt protective over Jo. Not just because of her tiny frame and short stuff height, not even because of her gender. Some days, it was because of her volatile temper she needed a knight in shining armour; without any effort, she would wind herself into potentially dangerous situations like this, digging too deep to recover without violence.

But while he may like to protect her, part of him wanted to see her swing that body with the force of a punch, to lay out one of her would-be suitors with a sharp kick. It would be a lie if he said her temper didn't turn him on.

And yeah, angry sex with Jo… his mind strayed back.

She'd rode him with a vengeance and he saw stars. Her breasts had bounced in front of his face, up and down, up and down, hypnotising him to match the stroke of her core on him. Her nails had dug into his chest, leaving red lines that lasted days. She rode him for herself, to take what she wanted after he'd been caught with his eyes on a daughter of an old regular at the bar. Jo had come undone on him, making him crave more and more. The things he'd said to spur her on had not gone down well for him at any time but that moment. But Jesus, that moment when she'd slammed her hips back down to him, pushing him balls deep inside her. When she'd ground out curses with her mouth and sharp circles with her hips… dear lord on high.

"-Yeah, Dean's been doing most of the modifications, trying to keep it all up and worki-" Dean tuned back in for his name, then back out again as the conversation flowed on without his input.

His eyes found Jo again. She was a sight.

Every man she passed would track her with his eyes.

She wouldn't notice; hell, she'd barely see a table until she was right next to it. Her mind was always on other things. But she'd spin on those little heels, the grace of such moves had him wondering if Ellen had ever forced her into childhood ballet. She would twist her hips to avoid collisions with drunken patrons and she'd slide past them without a break in her thoughts.

Right now she was miles away, a daydream in her mind, a tray of empties in her hand.

Beautiful.

Her hair was piled up in one of those messy buns, the shorter strands falling free in places, asking for men to have their hands in it, to lay kisses up and down the endless line of her neck.

He watched mesmerised as she leaned across another table, collecting glasses on the far side. Her top rode up, her ass stretching out the dark denim jeans that hugged her curves. He swallowed hard, turning back to the table.

"First round's on the house boys." Ellen told them in parting, patting a hand to each brother's shoulder before returning to the bar.

"It's pretty quiet out there." Sam spoke after a few seconds of silent thought, drawing his brother back to the table. Dean raised an eyebrow, his attention far from Sammy's topic. "News." he prompted. "No strange death, no mysterious cattle death."

"You do realise you've pretty much just jinxed the damn weekend." Dean grumbled, suddenly feeling sour. If his brother's jinxing mouth cost him his night with Jo, he was going to unleash some serious sibling violence that would make Michael and Lucifer look like toddlers in a sandpit.

"I'm just saying. Maybe this is the universe giving us time to relax."

"Or maybe it's all just a big cosmic joke." Dean countered. "Dangle a nice weekend away from monster blood and then just as we get comfy it will shove fifty thousands demons through the door." Dean had a hard time letting go of the paranoia of the job, but despite what people may say, he maintained it was how he kept alive.

"I sure hope not." Jo replied, her angelic voice drawing Dean's attention instantly. "I only just repainted it last week." She smiled and placed the tray of beers down on the table.

Dean swallowed again, the view down her top went straight down, right down to her bellybutton.

"He's just _adjusting_." Sam offered, the word spoke like a mental disorder.

Dean scowl was cut short only by the way Jo straightened up, the cleavage he had just been staring at was straining against the blouse she wore, daring the top to finally release its tension and spring the buttons, and their hidden glory, free.

Dean licked his lips, reaching for his beer again.

To just have one of her breasts in his hand, to seal his lips over her sensitive pink nipples.

Instead, he settled on the lip of his beer, taking a large drink to sate the desire he didn't know he would feel so potently.

It must have been a good four months since he last ran his tongue over her taut nipples, to hear her moan in his ear, to ask him to play a little rougher, to suck harder, to bite just that little. He did.

"Adjust faster cowboy." Jo teased him. "Too soon for you to go back to work yet." And just for Dean, she dropped her eyes, her free hand running along his thigh, then right back up. It sent a heat through him, like she had just slipped her hand into his boxers and stroked him from base to tip. "Enjoy." Jo nodded at the beers and left the boys alone.

* * *

><p>An hour later, Sam and Dean were doing shots with drinking games to the jukebox, reminiscing over the latest adventures and turbulence in their lives. They argued over Bobby's words, they split their sides at Castiel's antics and shook their heads to Crowley's latest attempts at pure evil. It had been a while since the boys had felt safe enough to kick back and laugh.<p>

It had also been a while since Dean had felt Jo's soft lips on his. And they had a deal.

A secret deal.

Even Sammy didn't know.

Maybe part of it was fear of her mother. Maybe part was the fear of the pain the buckshots in her shotgun would cause when she found out the things he did to her only daughter.

Each time, it was the same routine.

Dean would get Sammy enough past drunk that his words slung together and his hair became too floppy to control.

Dean would put his brother's arm over his shoulder and together they would stumble back to the motel a short walk from the roadhouse and Sam would proceed to pass out drunk on the bed, sleeping at least until 1pm the next day.

Dean would make his way over to the youngest Harvelle's open window and ravage her until the sun came up.

He'd be back in time that Sammy wouldn't know the difference, and nobody but Jo and he would have a story to tell.

Of course, tonight was a little different. Tonight, Sammy was drinking slow and trying to avoid a repeat of his last roadhouse visit. So, Dean had taken matters into his own hands to guarantee his rendezvous and proposed drinking game… or two.

Jo smiled as she caught the voices of the Winchesters ordering the other to drink for some loss to the latest competition.

She rested her arms on the bar, shaking her head slowly.

"Every single damn time." Ellen noted, standing next to her daughter.

"They're just blowing off steam."

"If he pukes on the floors again, I'm rubbing his damn nose in it." And for Ellen, she really would. Sammy didn't have an amazing track record with the drinks Dean plied him with.

"MORE!" Sam called from the booth, holding up his shot glass and wandering his eyes until he finally locked a straight gaze on the bar. "More!"

"I'll make sure he gets back to the motel." Jo informed her mother before she could brutally cut him off and break those big brown eyes.

"Jo!" Sam announced as she made her way over. Dean's eyes clicked up, the haze of a buzz unexpectedly covering the deep shades of green. "We might need more." Sam whispered conspiringly to her, his breath a mix of whiskey and beer.

"Oh Sam, I think you drank it all." she lied.

"We did?" He drew his brows together, the poor thing looked so confused and wounded it almost broke her heart.

"Alright Sammy, you heard the lovely lady. We need to finish this party at the motel." Dean spoke, but the tipsy edge had brought a slur to his words as well.

She couldn't help but smile to him as Sam tried to find which sleeve was where on his jacket.

"_You're drunk_." she mouthed to Dean.

He shook his head, before deciding the world looked better without the rapid motion. "You are so drunk." She leaned forward on the table, knowing perfectly well the view she was offering.

Usually Dean had unrivalled skills of perversion. He could stare down a top without ever being caught; there would be no knowledge except the tightening of the nipples as a warm feeling overcame the woman. But accompanying the current tug of warmth in her stomach, she caught Dean's eyes indulging in a sight he loved from women.

"I'm fine." Dean grumbled out.

"You better be." she fired back, her voice barely a whisper, not that Sammy was in any state to hear it.

"We can't leave." Sam suddenly announced to the table.

"Sure you can. I'll even help." Jo offered, sliding Sam's laptop bag off the table, the weight of the overused device comfortable in her hand.

"If you can." Sam giggled, then seemed to find himself kicked in the shin by his brother. Jo rose an eyebrow, what had they been talking about? "Dean needs to find a women." His brother broke the secret anyway, sliding out of the booth and gripping the upholstery to avoid his older brother's boot (or gravity's pull) again.

"Does he now?" Jo deadpanned. "Surely he's had enough of them recently."

"Nope. Nobody wants to play doctor with Deano." Sam sing-songed.

Dean rolled his eyes.

"Alright, get your stuff, we're going." Dean gritted out. "Now." he added when Sam pulled a face.

Like a chastised dog, Sam hung his head, but complied, pulling on his jacket.

Dean stood out of the booth, taking a few seconds to orientate himself.

"How many have you had?" Jo asked, a little concerned for him as he swayed on his feet. Her hands instinctively came out to steady him. Never once in all the times he'd been in a bar, Jo had never seen Dean anywhere close to drunk. Not when he'd challenged her best customer drink for drink.

"He was taking forever." He nodded to his brother as way of explanation.

"Dean…" Sam's timid voice came back to them with a change from his drunken state. "I don't feel so good."

Dean shook his head. Sometimes, being a big brother sucked.

"Alright lightweight, let's get you in bed." Dean answered, grabbing his brother's arm and pulling it over his shoulder. His eyes met Jo's for a silent word, his fingers languidly stroking hers as he took the laptop from her.

"Night Sam." Jo added, holding open the door for the brothers.

Dean gave her those deep eyes again, then worked on shuffling his brother the distance to the motel.

* * *

><p>Jo picked up the tray and made quick work of the remaining glasses, her mother ushering the remaining drunkards back to their homes, calling taxi's for those too drunk to make it alone.<p>

"Every single time." Her mother spoke as they met by the sink, the bar empty and locked. "I don't know why the Winchesters feel like my bar is for their extreme drinking games."

"Oh, they feel safe here." Jo soothed her. "And, no puke on the floor tonight." It was the small victories that mattered.

"I suppose." Finally, Ellen paused and turned to face her daughter. "Guess besides Bobby we're the only constant in their lives."

It would be things like this her mother would unexpectedly say and it would put a lance through Jo. She was sliced apart with sadness for the brothers.

"They always have each other…" Jo tried, hoping to piece together the hole her mother's sudden words had caused. To not have a home, parents… somewhere to look forward to going back to after a bad day.

"Oh sweetheart." Ellen's arm came around her. "They're big boys, they're used to the life, honey. Besides, this place will always be here for them."

Jo smiled, passing the cloth back under the warm water to finish wiping down the tables. "It's the life," her mother continued. "The life I didn't want for you."

Jo felt guilt slam through her. She knew her mother hated her hunting. She knew she hated the thought that when her daughter left with Ash on a hunt she might not come back. But she did. She took local jobs every now and then and her mother would pull her into the warmest hug when she came back, begging her not to scare her like that again. But she did… and she would.

"I'll finish up mom." Jo spoke, half the chairs already up and clean, the rest would only take a few minutes.

"Alright Jo. Sleep well." Her mother pressed a kiss to the crown of her head then made her way up the stairs.

* * *

><p>20 minutes later, Jo was wondering if Dean had passed out drunk on his bed. Usually he was in her room and naked before she could finish wiping down the tables. Tonight, she was turning pages to the latest topper in the bookcharts. It was some senseless romantic drivel, but she turned page after page, not really taking in the words. Her mind was on other things, like the cold chill from the window she'd left open for the man that might not be coming.<br>Jo huffed a sigh and re-shuffled, laying on her stomach turning the pages until she found something interesting where she could attempt to pick back up the story.  
>She was just about to give in with the main character's pathetic life when she heard the crunch of gravel under her window. She turned her head to see her favourite Winchester framed in her open window.<p>

"You're late." she began, but then paused "And wet." She pushed up onto her forearms, looking for any sign of rain and finding nothing.

"Blame Sammy." Dean grumbled, shutting the window behind himself. His motions were sloppy, not the clean suave executive she was used to.

"And you're still drunk." But Jo's smile was back on her face. She'd met all different types of drunks, she didn't know what to expect from Dean, but from the slight stumble into her dresser and suave grin, she could only imagine it was a more potent version of his usual demeanour.

The book dropped unceremoniously as she extended her hand and shuffled to the edge of the bed. "Come here."

"I'm fine. The shower helped." Dean grunted, but accepted her touch and following tug to sit on her bed.

Her hands went to the damp hair that refused to be controlled, it stuck up in different directions, an untamed sexy air about it. She couldn't stop from running her fingers through and tousling the soft strands.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Idiot lightweight wanted to display his projectile vomiting ability." Jo recoiled from the words alone, trying to push back the visual that formed in her head. "Yeah, my thoughts too. Except plying my brother with booze meant me too, so now I'm… _fuzzy-ish_." He said the word with confusion and distaste. For Dean, it was an absurd concept to have lost focus from beer, his iron liver had never failed him before. Then again, he'd never drowned it in so much volume before either.

Jo wrapped her arms around his shoulders as he sat on the bed, swinging her upper body to lay in his lap.

Her eyes brushed up over the instant warm embrace, the smell of his shower gel, toothpaste and aftershave curling around her in a Dean obsessed bubble.

"As long as I'm not fuzzy."

"I should hope not." he winked, and like that it was her usual Dean. Her hand slapped to his shoulder without any intent.

The shower might have dampened the spinning in his brain, but he wasn't near the neighbourhood of sobriety; the evidence was shining through in the glowing cheeks and half lidded eyes.

"Thanks for the save." she finally spoke referring to his grand entrance, trying not to get lost in those beautiful eyes. "Not that I needed it, bu-"

His lips came down to hers, his hands pulling her up to him.

"You're welcome." he mumbled against her skin before diving in for a kiss again. She tasted like she always did; wild berries and warm coffee. He couldn't walk through a crowd of people without smelling some feint whiff of berries in a perfume or lotion and growing hard. She'd ruined him… and he hadn't a single complaint. She made his morning coffee a wild experience, especially if he'd dreamt of her during the night. Like a haunting, she came to life in him at the simplest memory.

"I wasn't going to sa-" she began to argue around his lips, but he quickly cut her off.

"Let's just say you owe me." He smirked. "And… I have lots of ways for you to deliver." His eyes dropped to the blouse she still wore, the same one that had taunted him all night.

"M'hmmm." She played along, then recalled something Sam had said. "I promise to be a good patient Dr Dean." she teased, running her finger from his adam's apple down to the neck of his shirt.

His answer wasn't so much words as a primal groan before his lips devoured her neck, his fingers gripping in her hair and bending her to his will. "Sammy… got your fantasy down huh?" she breathed around the pleasure of his assault.

"You. Anything you." The words slipped out without censor and Jo found another reason to adore tipsy Dean; he gave her far more emotion than his sober-self did.

It wasn't long before he kicked back to his usual attitude though; having had enough of her blouse, he chose to rip it off her, her material tearing and finally giving his lips the access they wanted. The taste of those bubblegum nipples. Only a silky bra kept them from him.

"Dean, my blouse!" she complained, her arms trapped in place by the sleeves of the now ruined blouse. "You better buy me a new one, I… oh god… I like it." His hands had roughly shoved the bra up and over her breasts, his lips finding her peaked nipples.

"God, I love how sensitive they are." he whispered against her nipples. He'd never met a woman that would split apart at the seams just from his tongue on her chest, not until Jo. Damn, she was sensitive, and responsive; even now she was arching up into his hands. Her fingers were clawed at whatever they could reach (at present; his thigh and the bedspread) trapped by the clothing, denied to tug him closer as they wanted.

"Dean!" she wriggled under him, trying to free her arms and touch him, but without him letting her up, she couldn't go far…. And she wasn't at a point of complaining too much while he continued his ministrations. "Let me…" she gasped as his teeth lightly tugged at her peaked bud. "Let me up."

"Why?" He flashed her that smile that could do nothing but stir lust and quickly dove back to comfort the neglected nipple.

"Dean." she whined, before resigning to drop back on the bed and enjoy the sensations.

Of course, it was then he chose to pause and lift his head, cutting off all pleasure and leaving her high. "Dean, please."

"Oh, I love it when you beg." he groaned deep, his voice laced with several layers of gruffness. "But what kind of Doctor would I be if I didn't complete a thorough check-up?" he teased.

One hand held hers, keeping her restricted and submissive, the other he walked up her body, from waistband of the jeans to collarbone. Softly, he slid his flat palm all the way down the track, following the contours of her breast and dip of her stomach.

"Dean…" she whispered. "I missed you."

Jo was sure she wouldn't have said it had he been sober. But as his guard lowered, so did hers.

The words stilled his hand but drew up his soft gaze, swirls of jade inside his beautiful eyes hinting at everything she wanted to hear in return. He said nothing, but he didn't need to; his eyes said more than enough. He missed her too… not that the words would ever be more than a connotation she read in his emerald orbs.

"Here?" His hand finally moved on her, tracing along what could be seen of her hipbone. It took her a few seconds to fathom what the hell he was on about before she realised.

"No Doctor, it doesn't hurt there at all." She stretched out for him, forcibly relaxing the tension of the passed moment. "Maybe you should try lower." she helped with a smile.

"Now, now. As Doctor, I do believe we should complete a more thorough exam than a few strokes Miss Harvelle." His hand shot up to her left breast, massaging the cup with slow rounded motions.

"I'm relatively sure the pain is lower." Jo spoke through gritted teeth, her ache throbbing between her legs for him. He'd made her wait already, any longer was cruelty.

But there was Dean, leaning above her, grinning before descending back to her body the lay a cover of kisses over every inch he could reach. Her words had dissipated in the air as soon as she spoke; Dean intended to run the show how he liked best: _his way_.

"What about here?" His lips had lifted to her neckline, his free hand tumbling to smooth the blonde locks from her face. He kissed her pulse, a little higher… a little higher. He laid his trail right to her lips and paused at the very corner of her lips.

But this time, his eyes couldn't meet hers. He dropped his eyeline right to the bedding as he spoke. "I tried to see you sooner." And as soon as the words were released he was taking her shocked breath in a stunner of a kiss, his tongue easily sliding in to dance with hers. It was hot and heady, driving a hammering pulse straight between her legs. But she kept a grip on her sanity and the admission he made, even if he seemed to want to forget it. He missed her too.

She attacked him with the fever of lust, breaking his strength enough to wriggle an arm free then push him over onto his back, her legs automatically seating to straddle him… and his very prominent erection. How had she not felt that until now? If she was being shallow, it would easily be her favourite part of Dean.

Finally free, Jo wrestled out of the torn blouse and shed the bra from her body, her hands taking their journey to dive straight under his t-shirt.

Her skin was singing with the sensation of touch, his ropes of muscle were hard under her smooth fingertips, but still she buzzed. It had been too long since she last felt the heat of his presence, to feel the coiling of his muscle right before he struck, pushing up to tug off his shirt and join them flesh to flesh.

His arms wound around her, pulling her to him, bare chest to bare chest, her peaked nipples rubbing delightfully against his pecs.

His mouth latched to hers again, a rhythm neither could forget easily settling into them. While his tongue mimicked the sexual thrusting she desperately wanted elsewhere, her hips played dance partner, rocking against his erection, her fingers curling up and over his shoulder for a better grip, for a better motion to swing with.

"Condom?" she breathed the question, too desperate to go further and find a disappointment.

"Jeans." he simply replied, his lips pressing to her neck again, the lust too consuming to break away from her for even a second.

She lifted herself to furrow in his pockets, but as soon as she lifted, he took opportunity to reclaim dominance, tipping her back onto the duvet and leaning over her.

It was debateable that she didn't notice, usually the fight would continue until one grew too tired with the war or the need to progress took hold. But all she did was continue to slide her hand into his pocket, frowning when she found her luck of 50/50 drawing short: wrong pocket.

Before she could dive her hands into the other pocket, she found male fingers wrapping around her wrists, taking her hands away from him and his lips from her again.

"I'm not finished yet." He grinned, slipping further down the bed and her body. "Be a good patient and behave… and maybe I'll give you what you really want before you combust." he chuckled, his hands running down her flaming form to reach the band of her jeans.

Finally, something she could get down with.

She lay back for him, she let him follow his path of kisses right down to the line of her hips, his fingers popping the button of her jeans. The zipper cut through the air letting her know it was time to ready herself for the best orgasm of her life. But her jeans didn't fly off her legs, they weren't even shrugged down with fight inch by inch. They stayed gaping at the seams, something else had claimed his attention it seemed.

Panic struck her for a second, she hadn't actually found that condom… if he just realised he had forgotten it again she was going to put her delicate little fingers around his neck and squeeze until he turned a satisfying shade of blue. She knew it wasn't only his responsibility, but it's not like she could stockpile them with her mother still insisting upon vacuuming her room, and anyway, she didn't ever get advanced warning of his drop-ins.

"Dean, I swear to god, if yo-"

"Hush." Her threat died on her tongue with that single word, his fingers nudging down her panties on one side ever so slowly. She pushed onto her elbows, curious as to whether she was going to have to kill him or not.

"What are yo-?

"I found an anomaly." He grinned, flashing her a toothy smile. And thus, she followed his gaze to her answer. His fingers caressed the black ink, a scrutinizing inspection performed of every flick and curl. "This is_ definitely_ new." he commented, the trace of his finger edging between a tickle and an arousing touch.

"Necessary." she merely retorted, needing him back on track.

"It can't be old." he continued, his eyes combing over the anti-possession tattoo low on her hipbone, mostly hidden by the red lace underwear she had chosen.

"A month or two." she huffed, adding an eyeroll when he didn't move on. She was seconds away from kneeing him in the ribs and finishing the job herself. It wasn't like he didn't have one of his own to stare at… besides, she hadn't made this much fuss when she stripped off his shirt.

Suddenly, his fingers turned vice tight and air rushed from her lungs in a gasp.

"Who did this for you?" Dean's voice had been consumed with a deep possessive rage. "Why here?"

"Dean." She knocked at his hands, only succeeding in releasing his grip by a fraction. "I didn't want my mother to see it and be reminded that I'm hunting okay?" she hurried out.

"Who did this?"

And the jealousy tipped her over into the answer he needed to hear.

"A woman." she hurried out, "A woman did it." His fingers finally released the flesh. She breathed a sigh of relief… and a little of her lust too, they said pain and pleasure was a tightly knotted bow, and she had felt the rope burn of confusion as his grip had literally soaked her panties through.

"You sure it was a wom-" to prevent the incoming interrogation ruining the mood, she pressed her hand against the denim covered erection and rubbed slowly.

"Doctor, you still haven't solved my problem." she spoke quickly, almost rushed out, anything to get him back on their sexual track. "I'm so hot right now." Dean's eyes slowly thawed the green haze possessing them and returned to the field of play.

"Yeah?" He finally gripped the bottom of her jeans, tugging them inch by inch down her legs. "Maybe you should tell me more about it." he encouraged.

"It's like a hot itch all over my body, and it's everywhere as soon as you walk into the room." She lifted her hips to help him with the war on her jeans. "Sometimes it starts as a slow burn, beginning around here," she put a hand to her left breast, "And here." then her right. "It tingles through my body and settles," she gently floated her hands over her skin until she reached her red panties nestled between her legs. "Right here."

"I see." Dean grinned, lifting her legs to pull off the final inch of jeans.

"But days like today, it more like a pulse all over my body starting right here." She tapped her fingers against her femininity over the lace. "And it starts to flourish all over my skin until it's all I can think about." Dean crawled up her body, settling his groin in the cradle of her legs, her shape fitting him perfectly, but doing nothing yet to ease the painful erection. Her fingers came over his back, her nails lightly scraping as she moved them up. "And it keeps pulsing, burning me with every touch… and every look." Her eyes flashed direct to his. "Swirling inside of me until it's too much and… I, just have to _explode_."

"Sounds like you need help." Dean grinned. "And it's… right here?" His hand cupped her, feeling her wet warmth coat him. His eyes fluttered closed, the sensation too much for a mere second of life to digest. He needed years wrapped inside her before the need could finally be sated.

"Can you feel it throbbing Doctor?" she purred right to his ear. "Tell me you have a cure for me. Something big… long… _thick_." Her words wound inside him. He didn't even see her hand slip from him to reach back in his pocket for the condom. But damn he felt the shift of the denim over his hard on and he was crumbling apart. "You seem pre-occupied doctor." Jo sinfully whispered, her first two fingers sliding the condom from his pocket and onto the bed. They returned just as quick to fumble the opening of his jeans. "Perhaps I should help."

Gently, he let her guide him onto his back, taking jeans and boxers down to his knees with one swift tug. The proud erection sprang free and beat once against his stomach.

Dean toed off the boots, letting them drop off the bed, _one-two_, the socks quickly following, although with much more difficulty.

Finally. _Finally_. Her fingers wrapped around his length, giving it a courteous pump or two.

"Off." Dean grunted, his fingers tugging at the red lace that was the only thing covering her.

She rolled her eyes, but complied, shifting her weight to take off the panties and toss them onto the floor with the rest of the clothes. Dean had managed to get off the jeans from his legs entirely, the belt buckle making music as it hit the floor.

Jo barely had a chance to regain her balance before Dean was kneeling behind her, his hands snaring her waist, his right hand glided down her down, his fingers finding the short blonde curls and stroking down into the wetness.

"Ever been this wet for me babe?" His words spiked another lance through her, the heat almost melting her. "Ever wanted me this much?" His body swayed once again reminding her of his less than sober state, but there wasn't a part of her minding. Not when she could feel his erection against her buttocks, his finger poised at her very opening. "Tell me you want it."

"Dean." she growled, rolling her hips against his erection in punishment for his ego.

"You want me, you tell me." he bargained.

"I want you." she bit out. "Now." she curtly added. "Deep." The words only added to his torture and she knew it. But the second his finger dove knuckle deep into her heat, they were both moaning.

"Like it?" he breathed, the rhythm of pumping his finger in and out too natural to avoid.

"Love it." she managed to answer. "More."

"Greedy." he joked lightly, giving her what she needed with a second finger slipping in to stretch her. Her walls were tight around his digits, the motion of his mock thrusts steadily welcoming him deeper. Her hips rocked with the motion, her hand snaking around to guide his erection between her legs so she could have something more desirable than fingers to roll against.

His groan spiralled into her brain and down between her legs, the wetness that had touched his tip growing.

"Dean." Jo whispered, her voice quiet against their heavy breathing and motions. "Please." she begged, not too proud to ask for what she wanted. "I've waited long enough. I want you."

Her fingers had found the condom foil and pressed it against the hand wrapped around her waist.

"Yeah?" The word must have slipped from the part of Dean's brain that was still drunk, cocky Dean obeyed anything from a woman when it involved his pleasure.

"Now." She wouldn't lie, she was a little impatient. It was months overdue and a woman couldn't survive satisfied with her fingers alone.

His fingers continued their motions in and out of her, his other hand and teeth ripping open the packet. Only when it came to rolling on, he finally withdrew from her, leaving her with an empty ache that begged to be filled. A fear hugged her that the peak she was so close to might not ever be a reality, but then there was Dean again, the latex smell of the condom on his fingers as he guided her chin over her shoulder for another smoking hot kiss. Just as she was getting lost in his talented tongue she felt the tip of him guided against her wet heat, centimetres from her core.

"Bend over baby." he whispered against her lips and so easily she dropped to all fours. Doggie style was something of a god for them, it hit every right spot inside her and called out to everything primal in him. It was no surprise it was their first position for a reunion of a lifetime.

His tip pushed into her, her need to thrust held back as her tight walls enclosed him in a scorching lava. She tried to bite back the initial moan, but there was nothing better than the first stroke of a hard cock inside of a woman, she turned to smother the sound in her arm before the noise dared wake her mother. "More?"

"Yes. God yes." Jo prayed and the gift was delivered.

Dean withdrew and thrust right back in, balls deep in her tight heat, he couldn't help but groan aloud.

She arched back, the dimples of her hips visible, wanting to feel him in every possible way, to have his length stroke every wall, to stimulate every nerve that needed him.

She met him thrust for thrust, hungry for the passion. Jo would never say she could come easily, but like this, bent back, his cock hitting her insides in just the right way, it made it so easy to feel the build inside her. Weeks and weeks of waiting, the mental foreplay, the teasing texts… it all lead to this.

Her dreams did nothing compared to the way he felt with his hips smashing against her bum cheeks with each thrust. His deep pleasured moans circled in her mind, his motions speeding with the symphony of harsh breathing in the room.

His fingers gripped tighter on her hips with each thrust, the curve of her sweet ass presented up for him, cushioning his every push.

Her inner walls fluttered against him and he wished he had an internal tape recorder for what would come next. When Jo came on him, she came from every cell in her body, her legs locked tight, her moans drew out fantasies he couldn't even imagine and he all but lost his mind in those moments.

"Oh god." Jo repeated over and over, a whispered prayer and she dropped on her elbows to the bed, her claws constricting the bedding.

He drove home once. Twice.

That was it, she came apart on him, her inner walls shaking, squeezing him tight and begging to drag him deeper, begging him to fall with her.

Not yet.

Not without a proper reunion.

He stilled, gave her a pause for breath then his lips came back to her shimmering skin, his hands urging her over onto her back, paying no mind to the sweat dampening her hair, sticking strands to her face. She was always beautiful. Never more so than when she looked up at him through her post-orgasm eyes.

But there he was, stroking to hair back from her face, locking their lips and sliding between her legs for a familiar missionary position. Her ankles instinctively locked around his back as he lined up once more.

The first few times they took advantage of the arrangement, it was hard to look in his eyes while he thrust into her like this. But now, there was an eyefuck just as dirty as the actual fuck happening between them.

"You're not tiring out on me are you Harvelle?" he chuckled with a pant of breath.

"Just giving you a moment to get it together." she lied, her arms rising to rest against his shoulders, her fingers locked. "You good?" she teased, the sweat on his back wet against her hands.

"Cheeky bitch." He drove hard into her, another cry of pleasure pulled from her dry throat.

"What you gunna do?" she teased, but she found out quickly.

She'd never describe Dean as a soft and sensitive man, absolutely the opposite, and he definitely demonstrated the extremes of his opposite, slamming into her.

She could barely breathe between the moans, desperately holding onto him, her nails biting into the skin on his back and seemingly only spurring him on.

Drunk or not, he still tired from the hard pounding, and Jo took the opportunity to take the finish line into her own hands. She rolled them over and sat astraddle him without ever slipping him from her. "You good?" she teased once more, tiny butterfly kisses across his stubble as he breathed deep for gulps of oxygen.

"Fuck." he breathed. "You."

"Almost there?" she asked softly, her lips at his ear lobe tugging.

"Almost." he confirmed.

She took his hands and settled them on her hips, letting him guide her thrusts as she rode him up and down, slowly at first, then a mild gallop setting in.

She knew his eyes were on her breasts, the way they bounced with her movement, the way they seemed to draw him closer. To want him to touch them, so that's what he did; hands abandoned the pace setting of her hips and pawed at the globes on her chest.

"Good?" she breathed, riding him slow again, watching his eyelids flutter closed as the change in speed hit him deep.

"Jo." he warned and she nodded, stealing one of his hands and selecting his thumb, pressing it to her clit as she slowed down her pace. "Baby, you gotta… I'm almost there."

"I got you." she panted, the working towards her own orgasm riled up by the added pressure, the extra delight and the skilful swirls of his thumb.

Let it never be said Dean didn't know the right way to stroke her when the time came because dear god those tiny circles he drew were winding her tighter and faster than anything she could do by herself.

As she felt herself rising, she picked up the pace just that little until Dean was panting in sweat, his free fingers dropping back to her hips and gripping her painfully tight.

With a proud smile, she ground into his thumb one more time, those tight circles setting her off in another blindingly hot orgasm, the spasms of her inner walls dragging the last energy out of Dean and her name tumbled from his open lips.

Her body tumbled forward to his chest, his arms holding her close as they breathed together, hearts beating erratically as they desperately tried to calm down.

Minutes passed in comfortable silence before sleep starting tugging at her edges. She shifted to slide his semi soft member from her core, earning a groan from both.

"I think I might be a little drunk." Dean murmured, sitting up a little to take off the condom, tie it off, and drop it in the bin by the bed.

"M'hmmmm." Jo agreed quietly.

"And you're tired." he chuckled softly looking at the young Harvelle. Naked and sweaty she still looked beyond beautiful. "Bed." his common sense told him, sleeping atop the duvet was great for summer nights, but Jo was never one for the risk of her mother strolling in and seeing her in the buff.

It didn't take much manoeuvring considering their acts had messed up the duvet anyway, he could mostly just wriggle and have it pulled over them both.

Jo was back across his chest the minute they got settled, but she'd forced her eyes open, putting her finger over the lines of his anti possession tattoo to keep her awake and focussed.

"Are you staying?" she whispered against the quiet.

"A few days at least." he answered, having expected the question since he saw her.

"And then?" she hid her face from his eye line but he would guess vulnerable would be a good word to describe her. He hated not being able to give her a date to see him next, especially considering how hooked they were on each other.

"I'll be back to you as soon as I can." It was all he could promise her. The supernatural didn't schedule holiday time and so neither could he.

"Kick some ass." She managed to speak before drifting off. She was probably one in a thousand who could understand the problems that came with hunting. Commitments and relationships were dangerous and turbulent, but what they had, called whatever they liked, it could work.

It _would_ work.

* * *

><p>Dean pushed open the door to the motel room a little after 10am. He had the remnants of a killer hangover and a queasiness he didn't expect.<p>

"Hey." Dean lifted his head to his brother, finding him with a takeout for breakfast, the grease levels similar to that he'd eaten at the roadhouse an hour ago.

"Hey." Dean made his way to his bed, his bags having a secret stash of tablets he desperately needed.

"Where'd you go? You weren't in bed when I got up."

"Uh, oh… breakfast." Dean mumbled out. "You were clonked out."

"Yeah." Sam groaned, resting his head in his open palm. "Were you out all night as well?"

"Huh?" Dean asked, buying time for a good lie if necessary.

"I, uh, woke up at like 5, and you were out." Sam questioned softly, the spinning in his head a serious rival for that of his stomach. He thought it had been over since he'd been throwing up periodically every two hours or so.

"Ah well, you know me. Can't stand listening to your bitch tears while you puke your guts up." Dean popped back the pills, uncapping the water bottle for a drink.

"Yeah… I swear, every time we come to the roadhouse I spent the next day sick as a dog." Sam complained.

"Eat your grease Sammy."

"So, where were you?" Sam asked again, the takeout box under his scrutiny as he weighed up advice against the sickness in his gut.

"Ah you know… bar… getting laid." Dean scoffed. It wasn't a lie, and it pasted a grin on his face.

"A bar? After what we drank?" Sam's liver protested at the mere memory of liquid last night.

"Some of us can hold our booze Daisy-Lou." Dean mocked, though he felt sympathy for his little brother.

"Bobby phoned." Sam stated and Dean felt his weekend smash into pieces. "He's got a job nearby he wants us on." Dean was glad he was facing the wall because not even he could keep the anger from his face. Was it too much to ask for an entire weekend?! He'd barely come back to her, barely touched her and now he was being dragged away. "Dean?"

"Yeah. Fine." Dean grunted.

"I figured we'd leave after breakfast. Well, late breakfast."

What could Dean say? He couldn't protest this without crashing through their secret. He ran his fingers through his hair, holding his head in his palms. "You might need to drive though, 'cos I don't feel so good." Sam informed his brother, already feeling the twist of his stomach return.

"I'll be back soon." Dean just said, picking up the car keys.

"Where are you going?" Sam asked, the swimming in his stomach getting worse. "Oh, the woman from last night?" he guessed, then before he could get his answer he was shooting across the room and into the bathroom to hurl up what was left of his insides.

Dean sighed, he hated this part of the job.

* * *

><p>Jo nudged open the door with her foot, the boxes piled up high in her arms from the shopping errand on behalf of her mother.<p>

"Where do you want them?" Jo asked immediately, spotting her mother behind the bar.

"Fresh stuff in the back, bottles under the bar." Ellen informed, putting down the rag to help her daughter.

"Ernie says you need to pay your tab when you next go in." Jo informed casually, carrying the boxes to an empty table to sort them.

"He's been saying that for months." Ellen laughed. "I'll sort it out."

"I met Frank in town as well, he says he wants a 70th birthday party here next week." Jo laughed. Frank was a regular, he'd spent more time in the bar than Jo had.

"I'll find some balloons." Ellen laughed. "Hell, you can bake him some cookies if you want." She added with a smile. Jo couldn't cook for shit, but dear Frank would always brave her cooking to put a smile on her face.

"I think we're safer if we don't. He might want to see his 80th."

"He'd be bloody lucky." her mother muttered, following her with a box. "Oh, you got a delivery by the way. Winchester came in and dropped off a bag for you. Said he owed you for something."

"Winchester?" Jo paused, setting the box on the closest surface and heading to her room. The bag was on her bed, like her mother usually set her mail.

She peered inside and wrapped in smoky tissue was a blouse and note.

It read:

_Until next time._

She smiled at Dean's memory, but the smile quickly vanished. There was only one reason she had this gift and message. He was gone.

She sat on the bed and took a deep breath.

Gone, again.

Her sheets clung onto the echo of last night, haunting her with deliciously tempting thoughts.

She reached into her pocket, slipping free the phone she'd set on silent and smiling at the little message icon at the top left.

The usual pattern began again; a long long string of texts until the time would come for touch.

_What are you wearing?_

Jo grinned at his cheeky text and laid back on the bed, fully prepared for a long sext-a-thon with her lover.

And just like that, the wait began again.

* * *

><p>Hope you liked it.<p>

Feed a writer, send a review ;)

Xx


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